


mindlessly

by TylahJayne



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 17:08:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8409796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TylahJayne/pseuds/TylahJayne
Summary: You lived and breathed it, the spins and the step sequences became second nature, the ballet moves you’d spent your younger years perfecting idly sat under your skin in muscle memory, waiting to be used.





	

**Author's Note:**

> not beta'd, based off my own experiences

You swear softly and digging your hands into your hair. _Breathe_. Everything is moving too fast and you can’t seem to catch your breath, you start to rock back and forwards, rocking from the heels of your feet to the tips of your toes.

 

You can’t remember if there anyone in the rink when you had quietly walked through the front door, and couldn’t recall if anyone had seen you. You pressed yourself into the corner, trying to stifle the anxiety spreading through your limbs and threatening to shut you down from the inside. Imaginary ropes curling themselves around your limbs and holding you in place. The familiar weight of cold, hard panic spreading and growing and making it hard to think.

 

The wall is firm against your back, as you slide down it and grip your knees, struggling to even out your breath and calm the raging anxiety. You can’t remember why you’re panicking; the reason alludes you in an unreasonable manner.

 

You didn’t hear her enter, and you certainly didn’t see her slowly approach you with cautious steps. The hand on your shoulder startles you and you whip your head up and look to find who it is. Yuuko and Takeshi have both seen you like this before, but it doesn’t mean you like it.

 

It takes a second to register that it is, in fact, Yuuko crouched into of you before she’s pulling you into her arms, and working you out of the corner. It doesn’t take long before she’s got you on a bench leaning into her side as she goes through her normal method of calming you down. She talks, talks about the rink, the triplets, what she did today. Letting her familiar voice sooth your frazzled nerves and fast pulse.

 

The first thing you ask is how late it is. She smiles and tells you that it's only eleven. That she was doing some office work for the rink and left the front door unlocked in case you were going to show up, not that she normally needed to worry. She tells you that she was worried when you walked in because your pace was off and you didn’t call out. She asks if you know if anything set you off.

 

You shrug and lean a tad more into her. She laughs and wraps her arm around you. You smile, she always manages to distract you enough to make it all bearable. Pulling away, she walks off to grab your skates, and helps you lace them up. She kisses your cheek and tells you to call out if you need her, before walking off, to let you deal with the aftermath on the ice.

 

You forget about a lot of things when you step onto the ice. You forget about everything but the things at the forefront of your mind.

 

You mindlessly slip into a step sequence, following the music you create in your head as you glide across the ice. You don’t think people understand why you skate. You skate because you love it, but you also skate to escape. You skate to escape people your own age, you skate to escape your thoughts, you skate to escape people’s expectations of you. You lose yourself in the sound of the blades of your skates scraping the ice, propelling you forward into the next element of the program you’ve created in your head.

 

When you were younger, you practised and practised every second you could, because the time you could be yourself was precious. You used ballet, and figure skating as a way to shape yourself, and express how you felt. You lived and breathed it, the spins and the step sequences became second nature, the ballet moves you’d spent your younger years perfecting idly sat under your skin in muscle memory, waiting to be used.

 

As you skated, the anxiety thrumming delicately under your skin slipped away, releasing you from its brutal hold, and letting your limbs move freely again. The familiar fog of depression that usually clouded your peripheral vision disappeared as you danced on the ice, pouring your emotions into the moves that pushed you forward and into the next element.

 

Sure, you probably weren’t okay, you probably needed more than kind words and the harsh reality of the ice to keep you grounded, and tethered to this moment, but it was all you were willing to accept, and that was okay.


End file.
